The Secret Rebel
by Scruffybear27
Summary: How did Cinna come to be involved in the rebellion? A story from Cinna's POV through the series.
1. Before the beginning

**Hello everybody! Thank you for looking. OK, this is going to become a multi-chapter story all about Cinna! Please read and review because it'll make me SO happy! By the way, I've skipped over a few of the details in this chapter because they'll make the chapter too long and they're not especially important but they'll be in a later chapter. **

**Disclaimer- The Hunger Games is most definitely not mine in any way, it is Suzanne Collins. If it was mine, it wouldn't have been half as good!**

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"So Cinna, you _requested_ District 12. Any particular reason?"

"Oh, nothing really, I just had some fabulous ideas for some show-stopping costume designs based on mining" Partially true, I guess; I'm not a total liar yet. I HAVE had ideas on the design of my tribute's outfits but that's not why I'm here. Not at all...

Let me start from the top or you'll never understand. My name is Cinna. I am a stylist, I am a designer but most of all, I am a rebel. Since I was very young, my parents always told me that the Hunger Games were wrong, morally wrong. They believed in equality to all people and all Districts, not exclusive privileges for the Capitol and poverty for everyone else. When I grew up, I realised how much I'd grew to despise them. Hate the rulers and the way they make the Districts feel so downtrodden and useless. And one day, I got to do something about it. I could never see how the citizens of the Capitol enjoyed the Games. Do they even have a soul? Actually, no, they just don't have brains. Empty space. They have a lot of empty space instead.

When I was about 17, I was simply strolling around the Capitol, meandering from street to street with no real purpose at all. Basically, I was being a proper Capitol citizen. Brainless and pointless. As it turned out though, this little stroll would transform my life into something of worth. I found their hideout. It was incredibly well hidden, almost impossible to see... but I saw it. Looking back, it was incredible I did. They were, and still are, so clever at their hideouts and their disguises. I saw them and they saw me. And they attacked me.

The problem with finding a rebel hideout is that they are VERY protective of them. Any intruders are immediately attacked like they've broken every single rule in the book- in their eyes, I guess you have. They knocked me out in a matter of seconds and transported me to a sparse, pitch-black room. I have no idea how long I was there for. They never told me, point blank refused to. That's why I think it was long. Eventually, they must have decided I deserved to see the light of day again because they took me out to interview me about what I saw. To cut a long story short, they decided to trust me. They gave me a number, a uniform and sent me home. From then on, I was a fully fledged and fully active member of the rebellion. It was my life. I loved feeling that I was a part of things, making a difference. Which is why I was here, standing in front of the President, convincing him to let me into those despised Games.

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**So what do you think? Please review so I can improve and the story can get better. Again. please review! :-D**


	2. The Reaping

**Hello again! First off, thank you Deep Forest Green for following! Right, let's get on with the story. This is a scene in the Reaping. All the speech is copied from the book, so it may seem a bit familiar. I'm not quite sure the speech is set out correctly, soif you spot any errors, please let me know in a review!**

**Disclaimer- The Hunger Games is not mine, it is Suzanne Collins', along with all speech in the chapter. I am quite sure of that fact.**

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"Primrose Everdeen!" My heart stops, just for a single, fleeting moment when that name is called. So pretty, so pure... I hope to the Gods the name and person are in no way connected or alike. Then I see her and realise my hopes were not answered. She must be 12 but she looks so much younger, just like a small child of 10, 11, naturally pretty... yet with a look of pure and undiluted terror in her eyes which I've only seen before in creature's sentenced to death. But I guess she has been. To District 12, the name's which are called ARE being sentenced to death. When she steps on that train, Primrose Everdeen may as well have signed her own death warrant. This will not be popular anywhere, not even in the Capitol. Even they have a soft spot for some people and this girl is the very definition of that spot. She could easily cause change with the right attitude and actions, have this entire abomination abolished once and for all... but what if she doesn't? What if she just dies another needless, pointless death? Yet another needless death. Yet another life of potential successes and changes eradicated by those excuses for human beings who create the Games. Yet another terrible mistake...

"Prim!" The crowd and cameras scan the crowd for the source of this desperate scream. When they finally find it, I see a picture of a desperate sister. Her hair and dress are windswept and crumpled, presumably from the run she has made to the front of the crowd. they have parted for her, as if they know exactly what will happen next. I think I know as well. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I know exactly how it feels to have a sibling put in mortal danger but this girl is dong something unimaginably brave. She is giving her life for her sisters. Or maybe not. This girl looks infinitely more capable, as if she has survival skills or fighting prowess, something which sets her out from the crowd. Oh, how perfect that would be- the tribute no-one bets on, no-one expects to win could do just that. She'll need a little help, of course, but I can do more than that. I can make her unforgettable.

Effie Trinket, the unbearably upbeat escort for District 12, seems oddly flustered by this. "Lovely! But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forward then we, um..." Obviously, she hadn't expected this. I don't think anybody did. Nobody volunteers here. they just put up with their children's deaths the only way they know how- try to forget it, ignore it and block it out. Behind her, a flicker of recognition crosses the Mayor's face. "What does it matter?"He knows this girl and he must send her to her death. "What does it matter? Let her come forward!" Sometimes, I think a Mayor must have the most painful job of all: sending the very people they protect to fight it out in the arena. I could never do it. Maybe I'm a weakling, maybe I just have a heart. Although in this man, I can identify a definite streak of sadness, regret. But of course, he can do nothing to stop it. He can't even got to the Capitol, or any other Districts for that matter, let alone change the precious Games to suit his needs. And anyway, he'd have to choose a replacement; he'd have to condemn another girl to death. And he can't.

The reaping winner, Primrose, is a wreak. A crying wreck, She has been distraught and scarred at the hands of the Capitol. Her sister has been taken away from her in one moment and now... now she can only pray she comes back. She grabs the other girl, hard. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" She will nevr recover from this. She will always be haunted by the memory of the day of the 74th Reaping. "Prim, let go" says the other girl, almost harshly. She wants to go, wants no amount of her life to leak out. Suddenly, a large boy of 18 comes out and grabs the screaming Primrose. "Up you go, Catnip" And with that, he takes the girl to her mother and watches as they break down.

Slowly, carefully, she mounts the stairs, keeping a perfectly straight face, betraying absolutely no emotions in the slightest. She must have had some practise at that- no-one can do that naturally, no-one is born with that ability. I wonder what her story is... Every tribute has one, they just never get out: the president doesn't let them. It makes the tributes seem to human, makes it harder to see their deaths as entertainment, especially those who are depended on by families and friends. Citizens start to get worried about the families now their breadwinners are gone. What will happen to them? Will they survive? They get too scared and they protest till the Officials have no choice but to spotlight the families as fine, alive, with plenty of food. In short, they have to divert a rebellion. No matter what they seem, the Capitol citizens do genuinely care about SOME people. They get attached to some people, people who appeal to them and by default, they also care about their families. But this girl... I have a feeling she doesn't want people to know her. Which may be a problem.

With a stony face of resignation, the brave tribute stands upon the stage as if she is only being called for a trivial thing. But this is not a trivial thing, not at all. Her voice is like a robots, with zero emotion. She is a very good actress, I'll give her that because she does not really feel that way, I can guarantee that. No-one is capable of it. Effie bubbles her way through a silly little speech about the girl. "Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?" she waffles, not knowing the true emotion of this event. "Katniss Everdeen". Primrose Everdeen's sister. That is all I know, all I have been told... but I feel as if I already have a formed opinion of her, a definite idea of her personality. "I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come one everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" There is no applause. Simply silence. it show that they do not approve. they do not accept this. Then, in almost perfect harmony, they press the three middle finger of their left hands to their mouths and put them in the air. It is a sign, a salute. It is a small rebellion.

Suddenly, a very drunk Haymitch Abernathy stumbles on stage, unaware of his actions. This should be good...

Haymitch mounts the stage and shoves to the front, to Katniss. "Look at her! Look at this one! I like her! Lots of... spunk! More than you!" He seems to approve of her, seems to think he can win with her somehow. "More than you!" Well, you can say nothing about Haymitch if not that he is brave. He hastaunted the Capitol. Or maybe he's stupid. I'm just pondering which when he falls right off the stage. Definitely stupid then. Effie seems visibly disgruntled by this, not least because Haymitch has knocked her wig. "What an exciting day! But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She attempts to pat it back into place, and fails, but still continues over to the boy's reaping bowl. The next victim. "Peeta Mellark!"

He means something to her, something important. Because the second his name was called, she flinched. Her face tightened ever so slightly and she stood just a little straighter. Of course, no-one else notices this other than me- being a designer means I know a lot about body language and I was paying a LOT of attention to the screen. I know how some-one feels through their body and clothes. Just a side effect of my career I guess. As the boy mounts the stage, he does almost the polar opposite of Katniss- you can obviously see every single emotion on his face. It is basically written across his forehead. He knows he is going. He knows no-one will volunteer for him. He knows she's going with him. Every prediction comes true. The anthem plays and they leave the stage. It is over. Everything is revealed and I know what I'm working with. And I know I'll have to make them unforgettable.

The TV returns to its normal after-reaping reviews and reports and, as usual, my mind tunes it out and goes into design mode. What am I going to put my tributes in? Usually, they are so drab but this year, this year is going to be different. This year, they are going to shine like the brightest stars in the sky. But, one will have to be the centre of it all. They will be connected of course, butone will stand out for sure. And I think it will be the girl, katniss. She will be the star of the District for sure. So, she needs to stand out. And I can make her stand out, be special and distinguishable.

She will be brilliant.

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**Did you like it? Please leave a review so I can improve and make this story better! Till next time, I bid you goodbye!**


	3. Making an impression

**I'm back! Thank you so much to Deep Forest Green for reviewing. and MellarkGirl27 and AnklebitersItNeverEnds for following, I hope you enjoy this chapter everyone. This takes place a little while after the Reaping when Cinna is designing. Again, I might add extra information in later chapters. Please read and review! Anyway, on with the story...**

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I glance around my surroundings. Endless pages of dresses, costumes and accessories, all for just one person. There are at least one hundred- this outfit MUST be perfect, to the very last detail. After the labour that has gone into it, it simply _has_ to be. Sighing frustratedly, I stand, slowly stretching. I wander fruitlessly around my apartment, searching for something, anything to do. Being a stylist has changed my life in so many ways that I'd never imagined, not in my wildest dreams. I thought I'd just design a few outfits, stitch a couple of clothes, but no; I am now a full-blown celebrity in the Capitol's eyes. And, what do celebrity's need? Protection. Around the clock, heavy protection... which means I am constantly cooped up with little time to do anything I want to do, sometimes none at all. Going to the rebel hiding places has become totally impossible as I am ALWAYS tailed by a some sort Peacekeeper or crazed Hunger Games fanatic. For the next few months, I'll have to operate as a solo rebel... Such fun.

However shut in I am, I cannot truly say I have no space. In fact, the apartment I'm living in while I'm a stylist could fit my house in more than 10 times, a District house in 100 times. Each and every single surface is either ornately carved or painted with exquisite swirls or patterns, beautiful furniture scattered around the room. There are hundreds of windows, giving the space an airy feel, stopping it feeling like a prison. The halls stretch along for miles, with doors almost every metre along. Eventually, I come across one of the many kitchens and flop down, exhausted, on the sofa. Breathing slowly, I try to empty my thoughts and calm myself, however little it may work.

Long ago, in a time called this morning, I was calm. Now, a lifetime (or six hours) later, I am an absolute wreck. I can't think straight and I'm even having to concentrate to breathe. How on Earth has my life managed to muddle itself up into this abominable mess? It's that girl. She reminds me too much of her. Her looks, her manner... everything. Yet she's not here. She's long gone and what can I do about it? It's all Snow's fault, no-one else's. I fight back a sob as I remember I'm working for him. That absolute monster, that complete beast is my employer. I despise myself. I don't deserve all these things. I should be back home, suffering like the rest of my people. This world is not fair. Not one little bit.

I must have fell asleep on the couch as when I awake, it is nightfall. The room is pitch black, with just a sliver of moonlight coming in from the window. It reminds me of a day, a day long gone by with my Father. He'd took me out to see my Uncle and we'd spent the evening there, exchanging banter and joking comments. It was dark by the time we had to finally leave and I was almost collapsing from my tiredness. But still, my Father almost dragged me through the District and around the large electricity generators which make up our District's industry. We trekked through the rolling fields behind the generators right up to the fence encasing us. There, he showed me the sky, pointed out all the stars. I loved it. It has stayed with me. It always will.

There was only a single shaft of light when we ventured home. It was like it was our own little world, with nobody else but us. So many of my designs have been inspired by that night. In fact, so many designs have been inspired by my Father. We were so close, still are but... it's different now. He's so far away and I hardly see him. We constantly write but he is getting old and his brain is deteriorating alarmingly fast. I just hope he sees my designs in the parade though. I'll show him what an impression I can make. I'll help him abolish the Games. He'll see it, he'll see their downfall and I'll be a part of it.

I can't get back to sleep, no matter how hard I try, so I rise to hunt out the phone. It'll give me something to do for a while at least. It turns out I find it relatively quickly, which in itself is a minor miracle. I dial the number with the utmost care- I still don't trust the Capitol's devices. The phone is ringing for a good solid three minutes before it is finally answered.

"Who's phoning me NOW?" an outraged voice screams down the phone, obviously having been woke up by my call. "Do you know what the time is? Is this a matter of life or death or do you just have no concept of time?" I've annoyed her. Good.  
"You DID say I could call you anytime." I say, failing to keep the note of sarcasm from my voice. That's not going to settle well.  
"Cinna? Why did you have to be the other Distrcit stylist? If it wasn't for you, I would've had a sane partner!"  
"Well, you're stuck with me now, darling. Now listen, I was thinking about the costumes." No, I've been obsessing about the costumes. I don't think about anything else. It's probably not healthy, but Portia _does_ say I'm insane...

"Look, I think we both understand these tributes have to go out with a bang."  
"Obviously. But how can we do that? Have you seen the boy from 2? Or 11? Or the girl from 1? They need to compete with those... trained killing machines."  
"Portia, never underestimate the power of a stylist, it-"  
"What was that line? You have gone totally corny now!"  
"Just listen! All WE need is to make people remember them for their looks. Haymitch can bother with the rest, making them likeable. WE just need to make an impression."  
"Like what?" She honestly has no idea.  
"Portia, what fascinates me most in this world?"  
"Fire, of course! Though, I have no idea why. It's just heat, just a way of keeping warm, yet you-"  
"It's brilliant! Anyway, people are drawn to bright things. That's why District 1 are so bright. So people are drawn to them, so people remember them. What's even better than colour at drawing people though? Light! Fire!"

"So, you're saying..."

"I'm saying we set the tributes on fire."

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**What did you think? Any suggestions, questions or comments are welcome! I'll try to update by Sunday, Monday at the latest. Until then...**


	4. Builiding up

**I'm back! First off, thank you to for reviewing. Here my replies  
- Deep Forest Green - I'm not sure whether Cinna came from the Capitol but I just liked the idea of him just being an ordinary child and then causing all that rebellion! Also, I thought he was gay as well, and as you'll see, that girl wasn't his ex-girlfriend! Thanks for reviewing"  
-AnklebitersItNeverEnds - Thank you for your comments! Portia will be in this story a lot but I'm not sure about the romance. Not very good at writing like that, but we'll see!  
Now, onto the story! This chapter is just before Katniss comes into the Capitol and there's some sort of meeting with the stylists. Please read and review and most of all, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer- I don't own the Hunger Games, only my OC's. All rights go to Suzanne Collins, along with some chocolates because her writing is so very good.**

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"Ugh! I can't believe I have District 9!"  
"My tributes are just so PLAIN this year! Well, they always are though, aren't they? Plain and dull and ugly!"  
"YOU'RE tributes are plain? Have you _seen_ mine? Oh, they might've well have been living in a jungle, the state their in! Why they give us these atrocities, I'll never know..."  
"_Mine _are simply fabulous! I mean, have you seen that girl?"  
"I'm so jealous darling! But my boy... he's amazing!"  
Through this, I am deathly silent. According to all the other stylists, this is an annual event so woe betide anyone who misses it. If that's true, I hate being a stylists now. Basically, the stylists just endlessly moan about how terrible children who are starving and on the brink of death look. Or gush about how fabulous their well-fed, trained tributes are. I'd join in, I really would... but it's makes me sick to my stomach.

For the entirety of this blasted meeting, I have been slightly under the radar, virtually unnoticed and certainly not involved in anything that's happened. Seriously, I couldn't tell you one single topic they've chattered or gossiped or complained about, yet I've spent over three bloody hours here. It's like most of the Capitol- shallow and totally pointless. I'm not quite sure why I'm here sometimes. My family history... it's complicated. My Mother was Capitol, a full-on, attention seeking diva who needed constant undivided attention or else hell would break loose. My Father was an out-spoken, brash District 3 worker, full of insults about the Hunger Games and the President, just about avoiding the law, although it was by the skin of his teeth. Somehow, they fell in love and moved to District 3. The Capitol was too dangerous a place for such a law breaker, such a rebel. They married and lived through their own personal little dream. It was perfect. Then I came along.

Now, don't get me wrong here, I wasn't abandoned or unloved by any stretch. I wasn't an accident, my parents loved me, I loved them. There were no problems with anything like that. However, a child automatically means suffering through the dreaded Reaping's. How could they ever do that? So many other parents do, but still, they didn't believe they were anywhere near strong enough themselves. They could've. They should've. Yet, they didn't.

I lived a sheltered, peaceful life through to the age of 11. Now I look back, my parents had got more and more tense, more protective building up to our fleeing. I should've noticed yet somehow, it slipped past me like sand in my hands. I was too caught up in the moment at that age, so when I was suddenly whisked away from my home, I was totally paralyzed by unimaginable fear. What had happened which forced my family to flee our District, our home to the Capitol? They told me all about the Games then, desperately pleading me not to tell anyone who we really were. We'd be slaughtered for sure. I never did. Not once. To anyone.

Over time, we adjusted to our new lives. I even got a sister. Charlotte. She was so beautiful, so pure, so innocent. _Was. _She broke my heart more than I could ever imagine anyone could. It was the worst thing I have ever been through and I'm not doing it again. No-one is ever getting that close again.

"You're SO lucky Cinna!" I am abruptly yanked from my thoughts. I mutter something indistinguishable, neither giving an answer or ignoring. It's a skill. Or an inherited talent: seriously, my Father is so good at it. It's freaky how much we're alike. "Oh, I would kill for that girl!" Again, I mutter a small reply, adding a smile on this time to show that I am listening. They take this for a fully fledged, enthusiastic reply. "And with that boy, they'll be simply fabulous!" I excuse my self here, done with mindless chatter. It's driving me insane.

I search the endless gaggles of stylists for Portia, the only person I am comfortable with in this entire building, maybe city. She is in the middle of an animated conversation with another stylist, a little more into this whole set up than me. I decide to wait, not really bothered about splitting up another conversation. Already, I can hear talk about me filtering through the room. I lean against the wall, fading into the background as well as I can. Whispers float back to me about all sorts of things. Fashion, food and the Games, of course. But every so often I hear a snippet of something I can use. A small shortage or delay in some form which can only mean one thing. The rebellion.

"Cinna!" Portia has floated up behind me, having finished with whatever she was doing before. "So, are you having a good time? I know that I am, it's so social and not at all what I thought it'd be like. Not conceited at all! They're not as bad as Coin says!" Really, they are. They're worse actually, so much more than she tells us, than anyone tells us. But she sees the good side of them, not their true colours but something much nicer, an act they put on.  
"Yes, I noticed that. Now, let's go, we've got costumes to design." I almost pull her over in my haste to leave this hell hole.

As I hurry through the endless hallways of the Remake centre, my mind begins to whir, working out what exactly I'm going to do with Katniss. She's so like Charlotte, I can't abandon her, make her undesirable and totally plain. There must be an angle, a gimmick I can use which'll make everyone remember her, which will make her different and allow her to win. Right now, I have nothing though, and soon, she'll be standing in front of me, deciding exactly how repulsive I am. I find myself looking forward to it.

In a matter of minutes, we've reached my final resort. I was planning to stay with the stylists all day, but they forced my hand. District 12 design studio. The smallest, dingiest and least envied studio in pretty much the whole city, but still, a pretty good space compared to back home. I head to the work desk at the back, with chemicals and goggles littering it. I toss Portia some protective gear and begin to experiment. My idea about fire has blossomed into our entire plan through the Games. Now, we just need the actual fire which will start the whole thing off. I cause explosions, set off chain reactions and generally make a mess until finally, we get it. Get ready Panem, this is going to be big.

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**Any good? Please review so I can improve! The next chapter'll be up by next weekend, not sure when. 'Til then!**


	5. Paying for the suffering

**Hello everybody! Thank you to AnklebitersItNeverEnds for reviewing. Uploaded slightly earlier than planned, but I'd finished, so here it is! We are now where the book first introduces him, when he meets Katniss. I haven't wrote the actual meeting because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it right. As usual, make sure you review and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, nor any of the characters.**

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Usually, I am fidgety. It is near impossible for me sit still, I am literally always fidgeting. This is a whole other level though. I'll sit perfectly still, not moving a muscle and before I know it, off I go again. It's because of the meeting, I'm sure of it. I have to meet a girl, who probably currently thinks I am about as useful and knowledgeable as a slug, and convince her to put her full and utter trust into me. This should be fun...

There are two minutes, two measly, unimportant minutes until I have to face up to my reality. This very meeting, just a quick period of time, has been haunting me for days on end. To reach her, I just have to stroll through one flimsy door. One unlocked, unprotected door. I stare at it, willing it to disappear into thin air and forever cut me off from what's on the other side. Despite my prayers though, it is soon time. Steeling myself, I get to my feet, trying to salvage as many nerves as I can. If she thinks I'm crazy, there's zero chance she'll ever trust me and I can never help her at all. This whole thing will be over before it can even start. That can't happen. I have to do this.

I gently push open the door, putting on the brightest, and possibly fakest, smile I can manage. And suddenly, there she is. There's an odd look in her eyes, as if she has suffered much pain yet still somehow hangs on to some last surviving shreds of childhood innocence. That will go. How will she hold on to it when she is forced to kill for her survival, so she can return home to her family? There is something else mixed in there as well. A wariness. She is scared of me. She understands what the Games really are. She won't trust me if I don't do something. "How terrible you must think we are."

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I storm through the corridors, blinded by my madness. How did this happen? How didn't we manage to stop this atrocity? We're just as bad as those we swear against, those we call our enemies, those we say are our polar opposites. None of us are anywhere near worthy, no matter what we like to tell ourselves. I have no idea where I am going or even where I came from; all I know is the next person who could take any from of responsisbility for this is gone. They must answer for what I now know, what I have seen with my own eyes. Someone will have to pay for her suffering.

"Cinna! You've seen Katniss already then? We can do absolute wonders with them, I'm sure!" I whip around furiously to face Portia, my anger boiling over, out of my control.  
"Yes, because that's ALL that matters!" I exclaim, face contorted with undisguised rage, "Whatever has happened before this has no meaning at all! As long as they're camera ready and smiling now, what does anything matter?"  
"You know that's not what I meant at all!" The hurt is clearly showing in her eyes, threatening to stop me from continiuing, but it seems ineveitable now.  
"So what? It's what the rest of the stylists think, we both know that, and how are we any better than them? At the end of the day, that's what we're all doing! Making them look pretty for their deaths. We are all despicable. Every last one." And with that, I shove her from my path and march down the hall.

She deserves so much better. Of course, the entire population of every last District deserves better, yet she just seems... different somehow. Her eyes were shadowed, as if she had seen so many hardships and been tortured so much that she has been forced to grow up way beyond her years, yet bright, as if she still clung on to some unseen, all important hope. Throughout the whole meeting, no matter how warm I was, how comforting I tried to be, she still kept up her defences. There was not one moment where she let them drop a fraction. She was cold, untrusting, not at all welcoming. Any trust she once had has been destroyed over such a long time that it will never be recovered, no matter how hard anyone tries. She has been well and truly crushed by the Capitol. However, she's still here. She would be such a fantastic rebel. That's what I can do for her...

The tribute parade is not long away, not at all. Yet it seems as if it will never come. Me and Portia have constantly gone over the plans until I can recite them by heart without a single pause or stutter. We have tried and tried and tried to improve them until every last shred of design thought has been harvested and put into those costumes. We have consulted with so many different people until I am sure that every person we can trust knows every last detail of the plans. The fire is still an unresolved issue though. We can't test it one anyone for the fear they will reveal it and we can't test it on ourselves because we are too paranoid- we know every last detail which could go wrong. It plays on your brain.

Portia says Peeta is strong and has no signs of any form of malnutrition. He has a few burns and bruises and cuts but, he is a baker's son after all. It is in his trade. On the other hand, Katniss is thin, with almost every sign of malnutrition I have ever seen or heard of. She's not weak by any stretch though. I have the sneaking suspisicion she doesn't always stay within the District boundaries. There's no way she could have survived at all if she abided by the laws. I'm not complaining... it could be an advantage. Not everyone knows how to survive in the wild. Not many know, actually.

There is a constant, loud knocking on my door. Effie. She is, of course, the escort for my District and, as such, has been supplying me with every last shred of information she can get her hands on. It's a little annoying but still, it could make every difference so I let her continue. It doesn't stop me going out of my mind though. She excitedly scurries inside my room, squeaking uncontrollably. "Effie, what's got you so excited?" I ask, trying to sound interested and not slightly demented.

"It's them! I found out more, at last! Haymitch says she hunts! Hunts! How does she manage that? Is it illegal? Well, what does it matter anyway? Honestly, it's like a gold mine. The sponsors, the money..." The huntress. That's who she is. This is most definitely the best news I've had all day.

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**Ta da! Updates next Sunday or maybe Saturday if I finish on time. Please review and if you have any suggestions for what to put in chapters, please out them in as well! :-D**


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